A Quest for Power
by Wandering Elf 15
Summary: Thorn and Murtagh feel as though they are abandoned and unwanted. Will evidence of possible, strange powers in the Spine give them the confidence to fight for their beliefs? And will the journey make their relationship stronger?
1. Leisure

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters made by Christopher Paolini.**

**This is sometime in between Eldest and Brisingr, before the second Thorn/Saphira fight. Enjoy!**

_A Quest for Power_

_Chapter 1: Leisure_

Murtagh's POV

Thorn circled high in the sky, testing the maneuverability of his wings against the buffeting winds. _He is surely more than apt to deal with these minor distractions_, Murtagh thought as he observed his friend enjoy his leisure.

They rarely received the opportunity to relax by themselves, or relax in general. Murtagh knew that the best way for him to relax would be to be situated upon his friend's shoulders, so that they might broadcast their power to all of Alagaesia. So many elements combined while they sped through the sky to boast these attributes also, such as the way Thorn's crimson scales shone brightly in mid-flight, or the way the wind tasseled Murtagh's hair. Yes, that would be grand indeed.

Murtagh knew that was not destined to occur today, however. With much oppression from Thorn, he insisted his dragon take to the skies on his own, performing maneuvers that would render Murtagh helpless and clinging for dear life. He nearly wavered from his views, especially when Thorn pounced on his chest with a piercing gaze and even worse claws.

Even when he flew on his own out here, Thorn never strayed far from Murtagh. True, he could flit over the rolling grasslands faster than the speed elves endowed when they run, but a subconscious urge always made him fly over his Rider at some point.

Murtagh wondered if this was how Eragon felt with Saphira when they spent time together. Maybe-

He spat to the side, though not before grinding his teeth in bitter rage. That was one thing he absolutely needed to avoid at all costs, was comparing his life to that of Eragon's. He was such a dull person in his life that Murtagh wanted to slice him to ribbons, and, by extension, allow Thorn to maul Saphira into equally small portions.

At this thought, Murtagh chuckled, imagining the sheer magnitude such a confrontation would bring. Perhaps they should hold the contest over the city of Uru'baen for all the citizens to see, including the king himself. How splendiferous it would be to watch them fall from the skies finally, for Murtagh and Thorn to bypass all of the riders before them, even Galbatorix himself! He could already see himself brandishing Zar'roc in victory, signaling all of Alagaesia that it was _he_, Murtagh, and Thorn of course, who would control their fate from now on, to protect from further evils that Murtagh felt plagued him from all perspectives.

And yes, the fine sword was still belted on his waist after he'd stolen it from Eragon. It was now an emblem of _his_ power, one of which that he would enforce his views upon the world. And they deserved it, oh most-

The ground shook with a violent tremor, and Murtagh's mind was rattled. He slammed up barriers around his mind to protect himself, but he only found the familiar touch of his only true friend, the only being who dared offer consolidation throughout the world.

_Are you well, fierce one?_

Murtagh wished in that instant that Thorn could speak to Eragon and Saphira, whether over a casual topic or the beginning of their shared doom. His enthralling voice would surely make their minds spin with power and rethink everything they fought for. Murtagh saw these values reflected in every twinkle of his scales, or the shimmering shades of his crimson eyes.

Preserving his privacy, Murtagh spoke through their minds, through their most cherished bond. _Merely thinking, Thorn. I sometimes think I ponder over my problems too much, that I'm searching for a solution that isn't there._

_Of course there is a solution. Fighting by way of my tooth and claw and wings and fire, and for you by means of your blade and ferocity._

_You know me too well, Thorn._

_I am your dragon, am I not? _Thorn laid comfortably on the grass, flattening a huge portion of the wavy stalks and relinquishing his weight upon the soil. He licked at his claws to clean them, but kept his mind monitoring Murtagh's thoughts, as they always were, even whilst in the middle of other tasks.

_Of course._ Murtagh stared across the rolling grasses once again, keeping his eyes trained on the lowering sun. It was glowing orange now, spitting vibrant colors into the sky as it fell for the horizon once more.

_Fierce one._

Murtagh heard Thorn and turned around, seeing his dragon's neck arched and twisted so as to stare backwards, where a small town was situated on the hills, one with thatched roofs and men of simple trades. What Thorn had noticed was a rising pennant of dust accumulating from one of the roads leading into the town, also where a small team of soldiers were heading in their direction.

_Should we flee and leave their ranks in chaos?_

_No, they have already seen us, so they must have a missive for us from his majesty, or perhaps permission for a leisurely flight amongst the Spine._

Murtagh chuckled at the comment, admiring his dragon's keen gaze at the approaching men. Here was he who could make Murtagh laugh, truly laugh, finding amusement in life as he should enjoy.

In a few moments time, the soldiers had arrived in a wide berth around Thorn, due to the skittishness of their steeds. Even from such a great distance, the stallions still bore wide, frightened gazes while staring up at the scarlet dragon. Thorn made them all the more terrified by staring each of them down, wondering which would be the best choice for a meal.

A single man dismounted, handing the reins of his steed to his right-hand man. His armor rattled ever so slightly over his blood-red tunic as he approached, bowing first ot Thorn, and then to Murtagh, who inclined his head ever so slightly.

"Fair tidings to you, Murtagh Morzansson. I wish by no means to disrupt what peace you and your fine dragon may be enjoying, however-"

_Such a wish is irrelevant, if you have already carried out the opposite of your words._

The man swallowed hard, trying with all of his might not to meet Thorn's piercing gaze. "My apologies. You do know of the authority which his majesty King Galbatorix holds over ever man's head. I bear you no offense, honorable Dragon Rider, for you two are no peasants that can be governed by the dictions of law."

_Or so he says._

_I would not question what freedom we have, fierce one._

_Hmph._

"However, his majesty wishes you would travel to the Spine, with a team or two of soldiers at your disposal, to investigate whatever causes have obliterated his army. I have such a number of men stationed in our post now-" he gestured to the town behind him- "in their quarters here in Paislic. So-"

"Thank you, captain; that will be all. Send a falcon to the capital, and tell his majesty that we shall agree to his terms."

The captain appeared startled, and Murtagh could guess why. Half of Galbatorix's army had been lost to the Spine, and so it was with the utmost bravery, or at the height of enslavement, that a man would venture there.

It was this reasoning that caused Thorn to gaze down at Murtagh and ask, _Why would you agree? I'm sure this mission is not a necessary one._

_Perhaps we can discover power for ourselves, power that would rival all of the riders in Alagaesia._

_Hmm… I could see us wielding such a power, with fire boiling from my maw in an endless sea, engulfing our enemies and showing them the true values of leadership and what is best for them._

Thorn truly did understand him.

**Hopefully it wasn't **_**too **_**bad, but this is my first Fanfic. I'll try and come up with the second chapter soon! Reviews are wanted!**


	2. Flight

**Once again, I don't own the characters made by Christopher Paolini.**

_Chapter 2: Flight_

Thorn's POV

Everything was hot and red. Flashes of orange would flare through the ever changing shades of crimson, brining with them new surges of power, incredible power only a dragon such as Thorn could understand. His eyes, no matter how fast they whipped in their sockets or how intense they stared at the conflagration of colors, could not comprehend the mesmerizing power. His mind hummed with energy though, and he knew it was somewhere inside of him, somewhere-

"_Thorn look out!"_

He snorted and opened his eyes, only to find himself hurtling for the ground. He could feel his wings practically being dragged through the air, as if he had lost control over them.

He roared, sending the sound high into the sky and challenging whatever logic had befallen him, righting himself in another monumental heave of his wings. Murtagh's mind, which had been whirling with fear, was now set more apace and calm, or at least as calm as it was when he was around Thorn.

_Sorry, I'm not sure what befell me._

_At least you recovered. All I saw in your mind was chaos and a… kind of… whirlwind of power._

_I don't have a clue as to what that might be._

Giving Murtagh no chance to respond, Thorn roared once again, spiraling through the air. The wind whipped at his sides, extending his wings to their fullest capacity for power and making his tail and neck snake through the current, completely obtaining the same power in the wind itself. He was no longer a dragon; he was a physical combination of wind and fire, emitting powers beyond the comprehension of near all mortal beings. Even the elves, from what he had gathered of them, could not bear such a strong fervor in their lives. All a dragon truly was: freedom and power.

Thorn loosed another deafening bellow, though this time fire spilled from his open mouth, spreading through the winds and thus loosing heat. However, wherever Thorn held his grip on the heat and light of the flames, they were a beacon of nothing short than pure, uncensored power, the kind that he and Murtagh shared in the confines of their minds.

_My wards don't hold out for _your _fire, Thorn._

Thorn knew exactly of what Murtagh spoke of. He was merely warning him against the unstableness of his flight patterns, and feared for their safety. Thorn was in complete control though, contrary to the birds who had long since abandoned the skies to his glory and his glory alone. Consequently, thorn could sense how Murtagh stared at the inferno in wonder, and the fire reflected in the pupils of his eyes grew brighter as he extracted the deepest desires he possessed to share such abilities. In a way, Thorn pitied his rider for this aspect of his life. He deserved it more than anyone. True, Murtagh could devise some sort of incantation make fire spill from the air before his mouth, but he truly couldn't control it as if it were a part of his inner being.

_Here, play with this._

Thorn arched his neck through the air, leveling his body from the vicious flow of wind his flight had stirred so that the fire he regurgitated wouldn't collide into his flank. Murtagh extended a hand and murmured a few words in the language of the elves. In no time, he was spinning the flames in a flickering, bounding orb. He threw the ball over his head, through the air, all the while summoning it back to the invisible grasp of enlarged gloves he seemed to be wearing.

The fire literally seemed to dance under the influence of Murtagh's handling. He could use it as a threat to his enemies or as a powerful weapon, but the power of fire could be truly felt if someone took the time to understand it. Thorn felt the same way about Murtagh and himself.

The two of them flew through the skies unchallenged, as a dragon and their rider were destined to do, merely enjoying such pleasantries that they could discover themselves.

They had left the teams of soldiers on their own, on the paths of dirt that wandered about the sea of grasses. Eventually, the men had abandoned these means of transport and urged their steeds to traverse through the wilder portions of the habitat. It was a needed motive, for there would be no other way to fully enter the Spine. Besides, not many roads existed that traveled anywhere within reach of the accursed mountains. When they had left Paislic, Murtagh had made sure that he and Thorn could get away as fast as possible. Thorn felt deep gratitude towards this act, though he might have been a fool for not seeing it coming. Murtagh was his rider after all.

_Thorn._

_Yes, fierce one?_

_What do you think we will discover on this expedition?_

_How much do you believe we will truly uncover something in these mountains?_

Murtagh's mind sprung forward in a riptide of thoughts, ones that took Thorn by surprise. He was clashing with troubles that could bestow honor to him, and by means of that route, the alcove of great abilities. Slowly, he began, _I hope we do. Certainly there must be something curious in these mountains; otherwise Galbatorix would not have lost so many men. Yet… what if we were to best these circumstances? Would we-_

_If it helps, I believe that it shall strengthen our bonds as dragon and rider._

_Of course. I'm just saying, neither of us has known true power. You are but a hatchling in your mind, and I cannot help but think I have scarred you with my troubles._

Thorn snarled, jerking his head in the air. _Hatchling or not, I have proven myself to admire you, and to assist you in anyway possible. We keep each other in check… Why else would I have hatched for you?_

_Convenience?_

_Funny._

Thorn continued his flight well into the day, shifting altitudes and performing whatever tricks Murtagh was comfortable with. There were not many of these, for Murtagh savored flying almost as much as Thorn did. The sun relaxed both of them, though Thorn landed one to allow Murtagh to strip himself of his armor, storing them in saddlebags he had purchased in Uru'baen. Otherwise, no burdens existed to plague them of a day full of contentment and freedom. Or… what they were allowed under the rule of Galbatorix.

Thorn hated the king with every fiber, every scale of his being. He wished above all else that he could burn him to a crisp, and to see how majestic the cruel monarch appeared then. The dragon Shruikan was suffering from his cruel grasp, not able to enjoy the freedom Thorn enjoyed in petite quantities. For that matter, Murtagh was suffering because of the king's influence as well. Thorn hated that he could sense his partner's mind tortured by the king's words, by the king's bonds of slavery. It would please Thorn to infinite ends if he could obliterate Galbatorix. And yet their enemies were too blind to realize he hated the king as much as he did. Thorn would show them… oh, of course he would. Upon the field of battle he would prove himself to be far more superior than any of the dragons before.

In fact, if Murtagh were not here now, he would have been flying in such maneuvers that would have pushed him to the utmost limit. That was what dragons were meant to do, after all. The wild dragons of old would have done so. They tapped into the power of the wilderness, and so could dexterously overcome the most powerful elf, human, dwarf, or Urgal.

That was something else that interested Thorn. What would it be like to kill an Urgal? While they were larger than humans, and boasted impressive, curled horns upon their scalp, he had never truly brawled with one. Would their flesh taste different? What did human flesh taste like anyway? Would it be shameful to try a sample? Thorn often felt curious like this a lot. It was in his mind, he supposed. Dragons were erudite creatures, but even their youth, in this case Thorn himself, they posed questions that they thought of just to amuse themselves. And following up on his previous query, Thorn scanned the rolling hills for a beacon of these creatures' presence.

Soon, when the glowing eye of the sky began to blink ever so slightly below the horizon, the plains began to increase in the slopes of their hills, providing sharper and taller hills and furthermore, the foothills of the Spine. More trees cropped up along the terrain, and a blue haze made the lands in the distance spike up and down: the Spine.

_There they are._

_Aye_, responded Murtagh.

_Is there any way we could truly deviate from our escorts? It would be nice to explore these peaks._

_I wish we could, believe me. But, as it so happens, we will have to wait for them on one of these hills._

_Hold on then._

Thorn angled his wings so that they hurtled for the earth, ditching to clouds in favor of solid footing. He held his wings straight, so as the catch the wind in a gentle glide, hardly requiring any effort on his part. When they finally approached a small glade in a ring of large oak trees, Thorn flared his wings, abruptly halting his descent and instead plummeted to the earth, shaking it with his massive body. His claws dug into the soil as he put and end to his lurching momentum, and he shook his neck and tail to ensure his muscles were still loose and agile.

Murtagh slid off Thorn's saddle, and he walked calmly to where Thorn's head hovered in the air, staring up at his dragon. He stroked the side of Thorn's neck, asking, "How long do you think we will need to wait?"

_You are the one who insisted we stop, so how am I supposed to know?_

"If you're comfortable here, then it won't matter the time, I suppose."

_Of course it would. I won't force myself not to fly for a day._

"Sorry. I wouldn't want that either."

Thorn stared at their surroundings, wondering what critters had fled from his presence. It would be fun to eat some of them. As a dragon he had the right, after all, for now beast could challenge him. Yet… did such a thing make him evil? Was it because of this desire he had to exercise superiority in whatever way possible that made him appear so loathing to his adversaries, such as Eragon and Saphira? True, he loved power and adored the ability to show he possessed great quantities of it, but was he such a gruesome influence on Alagaesia that he could strike fear into the hearts of many? Part of his thoughts echoed that it was indeed alright to show the world these qualities he had acquired, although he knew it was wrong to end a life merely because you viewed yours as being more superior.

Thorn was beginning to feel pleased with himself upon this revelation.

Suddenly, an inkling, a mere shadow of a thought reflected inside Thorn's mind. He kept his senses atoned, opening a small part of his mind to the contact. It seemed urgent, pleading, but in another instant it was gone. What was he to do? Did such a plea truly disturb him that much? Perhaps how he would respond would be the perturbing part of the situation.

Murtagh seemed to notice how his head had perked up, scanning the skies and the surrounding environment; he would have been a fool not to. He inquired, _Thorn, is everything alright?_

_I'm not sure._

_There's no one to hurt us here, I can assure you._

_I am quite aware of that. _A further comment, one Thorn saved for his mind, was, _Though _we_ can harm ourselves if we're not careful._

**How was that? I often enjoy writing very deep, yet subtle, emotional meanings in a story, so I would like to hear if I achieved that here. Reviews are wanted!**


	3. Voices

**Thanks for my previous review, and I hope this one can bring in more. Also, I apologize for the confusing plot, I'll try and improve.**

**I don't own Christopher Paolini's characters (but you knew that…).**

_Chapter 3:Voices_

_Such animals._

The soldiers guffawed and teased each other as they spoiled themselves on bottles of liquor, draining the liquid into their dangling mouths. The light of the two campfires they had built reflected cruel shadows on their witless smirks that any other human would have viewed as terribly intimidating. Not to Thorn, though. Why, such conditions made his eyes twinkle with amusement, and compare them to the deer that begged for his survival long after he was already clasped in Thorn's mighty talons.

Such feeble amusement did little to bring Thorn away from his current meandering thoughts.

He found his mind naturally wandering in the jerking, writhing flames of the fire he had brought about for Murtagh, so that he would not have to rendezvous with the soldiers. They were the sort of men who abused the position they were given, knowing that there wasn't many laws that could grasp hold of the crimes they committed in, as they said, the name of the king.

Murtagh too paid glances over his shoulder to the men, and the light of the fire made his eyes appear devilish in the moonlight. If any of the men were to peer over at him, drunk or not, they would be terrified, what with the intense glower he had adapted to over the past few years. Yet, if it was the true image of a Rider, he didn't know. Unfortunately, he probably appeared no better than those men gathered in the site of their small campfire. He abused his power in a way, forcing authority upon those who knew nothing of him and only knew terror. Since that was the only power he had that showed a copious response, he exhibited it as much as possible.

He wanted a better power, one that could improve the welfare of people who led lives the same as he. However, that was meant for someone else, obviously. Thorn showed this same desire too, and that entrusted Murtagh something to work to achieve. If Thorn understood that life was not about slavery, then maybe… just maybe…

Could they be freed?

A cold, brisk wind channeled through the hills, shaking the many limbs of the trees and sending the grass into a frenzy. Murtagh curled his legs against his chest, hugging them in, and backed up against Thorn's warm body. His hair remained flicking and twisting in the gale, and he feared their fire would be smothered in a few moments.

His dragon, in turn, angled his neck to peer down at Murtagh in his huddled mass. _The winds are not that cold, are they?_

_You tell me._

…_I suppose they would be to you, but the fire born from within my lungs provides a bit of extra heat. And my scales absorb most of the wind's draft._

_That would be nice… to be a dragon._

Thorn's chest shook, almost mechanically, and smoke drifted up from his nostrils, fading into the winds. _Of course it would be! I can't tell you what it means to have the power to do whatever you want. _Thorn then realized he'd cast a bit of cruel irony on his words, and shot a rebuttal, _I mean concerning the abilities of your body._

_I know. _Thorn could tell how bitter his thoughts had grown, that they were like cubes of ices now. They had to stay that way, however, otherwise an eruption of anger hotter than any flames Thorn could summon would rip them apart, and then melt them to a puddle in a matter of seconds. Murtagh felt helpless, that was the only explanation. Thorn could empathize with him as well, for they could only fulfill the bidding of their ruler, the cruel Galbatorix.

The winds picked up in speed again, and this time, bending in useless attempts to avoid the gale, their campfire was murdered. It was odd that such weather conditions were present at this time of spring. Thorn coughed up an inferno, divided into intervals when it would exist in the confines of his jaws. The warmth was only momentarily, however, and it did nothing for Murtagh.

Suddenly, as the wind hurled over the hills and into the trees again, Thorn could hear a tentative touch at the edges of his mind, one rimmed with a consciousness Murtagh could not understand.

_If someone is trying to talk, let them speak._

…_uuuhhh-_

Thorn's neck snapped so quickly through the air, Murtagh jumped in fear. His eyelids were augmented as wide as he could force them, and his eyes flickered over everything in sight, interrogating his surroundings for any sign of enemies.

_Hey, what is it?!_

_I… never mind, you wouldn't understand. _Before Murtagh had the chance to interrupt, Thorn added, _I don't even understand._

The winds now spiraled around Thorn's neck, tickling his scales and his nostrils so that he sputtered with a brief conflagration of orange flames. He jerked and twisted against the forces of air, but nothing helped.

_If you are here …residents of past… please help …the terror must end… to kill the murder…_

The mind, now that Thorn was able to trace the voice back to the consciousness, was very eccentric, punched and propelled by extraordinary measures of mental influences, catastrophes thrown about a very long life. If there was anything in the world that truly existed with such a view of the world, it had to be a mind that was broken and now dominated by madness.

With that logic in mind, Thorn shifted on his haunches, holding his body still above the ground and flexing his wings.

_Is it bad enough that-_

_Get on, now._

Murtagh did so in a frenzy, his eyes wide with curiosity and concern. He took his place on thorn's shoulders, keeping a firm hand on one of Thorn's gleaming spikes and another on the pommel of Zar'roc. He did this when he was nervous, so to keep other inquiring minds away from him.

A soldier rushed to Thorn's side, brandishing a liquor bottle in favor of his sword, which was lying sheathed on the ground behind him. "Sir, is there anything-"

Thorn spun on his legs, so lithe and rapid that Murtagh nearly collapsed from his position, and loosed a roar that made the man's hair part with the strong rush of air. It was all Thorn could do to prevent a fire from boiling in his maw.

_We're leaving to investigate something. _DO NOT_ follow us._

Then, giving the man no chance to respond, Thorn transposed in the opposite direction, running for a short distance and then heaving his wings in monumental arcs. His entire body was swept in the updraft, and he stabilized his flight to carry them far.

_Are you sure you know what you're doing?_

Thorn gave no answer.

**Okay, don't flame me for being too short with it, but it just felt like this was the right way to do it. The next chapter may or may not have action!**

**By the way, REVIEW!**


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